Going Home Again
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: A man who made a major move as a child wants to know what his life would have been like if the move had never happened. Follows 'Gentle Stranger'.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _This fantasy is one I would have asked Mr. Roarke for myself, if Fantasy Island were a real place; so there's a personal element in this one. It's still in progress as of the original post date; it's my hope to have it completed this weekend, around writing chapters of Christian's bio for posting on FictionPress. Thank you as ever to PDXWiz, jtbwriter, Harry2, Kyryn and BishopT, and also thanks for the reviews I've had so far for Christian's story…as deeply appreciated as ever!  
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§ § § -- November 8, 2002

Leslie blinked awake in the deep of night, wondering what had pulled her out of her sleep. The bedroom was dark and quiet, and she lay on her side facing toward the front of the house, trying to sense if something was different. It took her a moment or so to realize that she didn't feel Christian's weight on the other side of the mattress, and she rolled over to find that he was indeed gone. "Christian?" she said tentatively, sitting up in the bed.

"Did I wake you, my Rose?" she heard his voice from their computer room/library. "Why don't you come in here."

Lightning flickered through the back window overlooking the deck as she swung out of bed, sending her scurrying into the room to join Christian. He laughed softly at the speed of her entry and reached up to drape an arm loosely around her waist. She squinted in the light from the computer screen. "Having trouble sleeping?" she asked curiously.

"Not really," he said, shrugging. "I actually haven't been awake that long; you know how storms wake me so I can go and watch them. I thought, as long as I was waiting for the real fireworks—and for you to be rudely awakened—" He paused to grin teasingly at her, and she rolled her eyes, making him chuckle— "I might as well check e-mail."

"I see," Leslie said, over the roll of thunder that finally reached them. "Oh, this one's a good ways out yet. I don't know if we ought to wait for it, my love…we both have to get up early in the morning."

"There's that," Christian agreed, removing his arm from her long enough to move the mouse and click on a message. "But it's not even midnight yet. Don't worry, my darling, we'll get back to bed before too long. Oh, what do you know. It seems I'm going to be a great-uncle again. Cecilia's just learned she's pregnant—she's due sometime between your birthday and mine." This news came from Anna-Kristina, the family member who kept in closest touch with them. She wrote to both Christian and Leslie, but had a habit of lapsing into _jordiska_ in her messages to Christian.

"That's quite a gap," Leslie said with a laugh. "Ask her to narrow it down a tad."

Christian laughed too and clicked on a button to answer, typing quickly in his own language. "It's a first baby…I'm told the firstborn is usually late. I'm going to suggest she tell Cecilia to add two weeks to her projected due date." Leslie giggled and knelt beside him to watch him type, while lightning cast momentary shadows in the room. "I'm a little surprised that Elias and Gabriella haven't found themselves expecting by now. Anna-Kristina has a way of giving out a little too much information…she said they're apparently trying very hard to have a child. Which makes me wonder how she knows."

"Well, don't ask her _that,"_ Leslie joked, and he laughed again. She sobered for a moment and regarded him. "How does it make you feel, Christian?"

"How does what make me feel?" he asked absently, typing another sentence.

She let her gaze stray to the screen. "Watching your brother and sister becoming grandparents, when you yourself aren't even a parent."

Christian paused, turning to regard her. "Leslie, my Rose, you're not still worried about our childless state, are you?"

"Sometimes I think about it, yeah," she admitted.

He shifted the chair and pulled at her to get her to stand, then tugged her down into his lap and bracketed her face with his hands. "You shouldn't," he said gently. "I told you before, more than once, as I recall. I'm happy as we are. Children aren't a requirement in this house. As long as I have you, that's all I ever need."

"Does that mean you don't want kids?" Leslie asked.

"Not necessarily," Christian said. "You've forgotten that too, my Rose. If you conceive, I'll be happy for us both. But if you don't, it's fine with me. What brings this on? Is someone asking you again when you think we might decide to have a child?"

Leslie sighed and let her gaze drop to his shoulder. "I just wish I could understand why I've never been able to conceive a baby. It's not as if there hasn't been plenty of opportunity for me to get pregnant, after all—especially as we've never used any kind of birth control at all. Maybe I just can't."

Christian moved both thumbs slowly back and forth over her cheeks. "It's really that important to you?" he asked.

"It just seems like there's…I don't know, something lacking," Leslie murmured, her head drooping. "Maybe that sounds silly to you…"

"Not so much silly as just untrue," said Christian, his voice soft. "Don't ever think you must present me with a child just to prove you're truly a woman. Believe me…" His slight smile widened a bit and got a wicked touch to it. "I know very well how much woman you really are, and now that this comes up, I want to explore that again."

Lightning flared again, and the thunder came much closer behind it. Leslie leaned in enough to rest her forehead against Christian's and murmured impishly, "Is this going to be another attempt to cure me of my thunderstorm phobia?"

His hands drifted back from her face, tangling in her hair. "What an excellent idea that is. Why don't we?" Their lips met, and then there was a boom somewhere not very far away that pulled them apart with surprise, reminding them of the computer waiting there. "One moment, my darling," Christian said with an apologetic grin. "Let me send this and shut down the machine, and then we'll pick up where we left off."

"Tell Anna-Kristina to send everyone my greetings too," Leslie said, and he smiled and acquiesced, reaching past her to type rapidly, if somewhat awkwardly, in _jordiska_ and then send the message. He signed out and shut down the computer, then turned back to her and let an index finger drift over her lower lip.

"Now that the computer is safe from power surges," Christian said softly, "I'm of a mind to experience a completely different sort of power surge."

Leslie grinned. "Dirty old man," she teased.

"Oh no…dirty _young_ man," he shot back, making her rock back with a laugh. Grinning, he set her back on her feet and stood up. "Come on now, let's go cure that phobia again."

Twenty minutes passed before they spoke again; by the time they were aware of anything around them, it was raining cats and dogs outside, and the lightning and thunder were frequent and enthusiastic. "So," said Christian lazily, one hand slowly roaming, "are you cured yet?"

Leslie pretended to think about it, then met his gaze and remarked softly, "You know, doc, I think I need another dose of medicine."

"I thought you said we had to get up early in the morning," Christian said through a yawn. "But if you're this wide awake, then you're probably right about that second dose, since the first clearly wasn't enough to effect that cure."

"You want the truth?" Leslie asked, smiling at him. "I'm not even sure I _want_ to be cured. I just like taking the medicine."

Laughing, Christian shook his head and propped himself up on one elbow, his caresses gaining purpose. "My sweet, priceless wife. Fortunately for you, I like dealing it out. Well, then, get ready for the next dose." He dipped his head and kissed her again, and once more the storm went ignored.

§ § § -- November 9, 2002

"Now there is a man with a very interesting fantasy," Roarke observed the next morning at the plane dock, watching a black-haired man who looked to be around Christian's age making his way down the ramp and running the usual gamut of leis and drinks with a preoccupied look about him. "That's Mr. Matt Marelich, who lives in Tampa, Florida."

"What fantasy does he have that's so interesting?" asked Leslie.

"When he was ten years old, his father accepted a job transfer and the family moved to Florida from Aberdeen, South Dakota. He didn't adjust very well in the aftermath, and has what he calls a 'terminal case of homesickness'. He feels that the move caused fundamental changes in his life, and perhaps in himself, that—he says—might not have taken place had the move never happened. He has never been married, is shy and wary of people due to a great deal of cruel teasing and even some hazing incidents during his high-school years, and in fact seems to have developed some manner of low-grade depression." Roarke frowned slightly. "He blames all this on that one event in his childhood, and when I first received his letter I had the concern that perhaps he's living in the past. However, he has assured me he has an eye on basing his future on the outcome of this fantasy, so I agreed to grant it. Mr. Marelich wishes to know what would have happened, how his life would have turned out, had the move never occurred."

"Oh my goodness," Leslie said, her eyes wide. "I used to wonder sometimes what would've happened if Michael had never come up with the idea of moving from Connecticut to California after the first fire, but it never crossed my mind to try to find out."

"I daresay that you already know, my dear Leslie," Roarke observed. "After all, it was necessary for you to break the curse: it was preordained. Had you remained in Connecticut, you would still have experienced the outcome you actually did."

"I guess I see your point," Leslie admitted. "It sounds to me as if Mr. Marelich here is hoping for a happier alternative outcome."

Roarke nodded. "That remains to be seen," he said quietly. He proceeded to introduce their next party of guests; but while Leslie paid the proper attention, she knew full well that it was the Marelich fantasy that would hold her primary interest this weekend. As Roarke toasted their guests, she found herself hoping the guarded-looking man standing alone across the clearing would manage to find a happy ending somewhere.

It was a mere half hour, perhaps less, before Matt Marelich arrived at the main house, where Roarke and Leslie were just emerging from the time-travel room. "Excellent timing, Mr. Marelich," Roarke said warmly. "Please, come in and sit down. Is there anything you would like?"

"To get started," Matt said, coming into the study but remaining on his feet. "I mean, really, Mr. Roarke, this is something that's been eating me alive since I was ten. I didn't want to move—I put up a huge fuss about it. I spent weeks protesting the whole thing, but obviously there was nothing I could do about it." He shrugged. "There were some people who suggested I just had the wrong attitude about it, and I needed to change my perception of the whole thing. But I wasn't the most outgoing kid on earth to begin with, and I had friends in my neighborhood and at school that I hung out with. When we moved to Florida, our whole street was full of old people and there was no reason for me to be outside, so I started spending my afternoons after school in my room. I was shy, and I had a hard time opening up to other kids. I guess it set the stage for the rest of my school career.

"High school was the pits, pure and simple. I was a bookish kid, which is the kiss of death for a boy especially. I probably should've made better grades than I did, but I had no enthusiasm for school because of the social situation. I never had a single date all the way through high school. Girls dismissed me as this quiet nerd, and other guys decided it was their mission in life to make a man out of me, in the cruelest possible ways. There was a girl I secretly had kind of a crush on, and somehow some guys found out about it and blabbed to her, and she told me in front of an entire class that she wouldn't go out with me if she was paid to do it. There was name-calling, there were taunts and insults, there were rude remarks and disgusting suggestions, and there was even a little physical hazing. I was the happiest kid in Florida when I finally got my diploma, Mr. Roarke, and I decided against going to college solely because I figured I'd have the crummy luck to wind up going to the same school that my old tormentors were attending."

"Did it ever occur to you that you might have tried attending college in your old home state?" Roarke asked gently.

"Yeah, about fifteen years too late," said Matt, "when I was already established in a job and had enough seniority that I'd have put myself at a disadvantage to leave. I'm still living in Tampa, but I've gotten sick of the hurricanes and the palmetto bugs and the sticky heat in summer. Every winter when it was eighty degrees out, I'd wish for a fifty-degree drop in the temperature and a good old-fashioned High Plains blizzard. I missed my friends and my hometown and my old room, and the way the moon would shine through my window at night, and even the Godzilla-size puddle we got on the street in front of our house after a good solid rainstorm." He grinned wistfully. "I had a great childhood till we made that move, and then everything went downhill from there."

"You have no good memories of Tampa," Roarke said a little pointedly, "and no bad memories of Aberdeen?"

Matt stared at him. "Well, I wouldn't go that far," he said. "I mean, we had a bad-news kid in our old neighborhood who was always making trouble, and for a little while in sixth grade in Tampa, I got to be pretty good friends with a kid who'd just moved there from Kansas—at least, till he moved away again. Let me tell you, I envied the heck out of him when I found out his family was heading for Illinois. I wanted to stow away in the trunk of their car and then hitchhike back to Aberdeen from there." He grinned again, then took in Roarke's solemn look and Leslie's observant silence. "I guess I sound as if Aberdeen was the modern-day equivalent of Eden and Tampa is the hind end of Hades…"

Leslie laughed, and Roarke smiled a little too. "I am only concerned that you are idealizing your past, Mr. Marelich," he said. "Surely it's been suggested to you that you should make the best of the hand you are dealt."

Matt frowned. "Sometimes it's a losing hand, Mr. Roarke, and it's hard to make much of anything good out of a loser. My parents had friends who had this little decorative plaque hanging in their kitchen that said, _Bloom where you are planted._ That thing always annoyed the bile out of me. Some people just don't make good transplants."

Leslie smiled sympathetically. "Once a South Dakotan, always a South Dakotan?"

"That's about it," Matt agreed, a smile appearing as if he were grateful to find someone who seemed to understand. "It's in the blood."

"I can see what you mean," Leslie admitted. "Father sometimes teases me about still having a New England soul, even though I've lived on Fantasy Island longer than any other place I've lived in my life."

Matt's smile became a grin. "You do get it. Thanks, Mrs. Enstad. Well, then, can we get on with my fantasy, Mr. Roarke? I mean, it should be pretty obvious why I want it. I've wondered for years. I'm sure my life would've turned out differently if we'd never moved, but I want to find out just how differently. I want to know what would've happened."

"Is it in your mind to present your family with an _I told you so_ should your fantasy bear out your suspicion that your life in South Dakota would have been better?" Roarke asked. "I make it a point not to grant a fantasy for such reasons."

"It's got nothing to do with that," Matt said coolly. "Even if I do find I'm in a position to say that, I'm past the point where I still want to, whether you believe it or not. This is for me and me alone."

Roarke regarded him for a moment or two, as though assessing him, or perhaps trying to decide what to believe. Then he shifted his stance and nodded. "Very well, Mr. Marelich, you shall have your fantasy. Please come this way."


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § -- November 9, 2002

Leslie retreated to the desk while Roarke led Matt to the time-travel room. "Your fantasy will unfold in a series of trips into an alternate past timeline," Roarke explained, "five in all. It has been theorized that at any given moment, infinite alternate universes and timelines exist wherein, sometimes, the only difference between any two is the color of one's eyes, or what clothing one decided to wear that morning, or even whether a telephone rang in one scenario but did not in the other. The differences between timelines in this theory range from mundanities like these to much more significant ones: which two people are your parents, what career you have chosen, or—as in your case—a decision to move from one locale to another. It is this last that we are taking advantage of, and that is why your fantasy took nearly three months to bring to fruition from the time your request arrived here. It was necessary to search out the proper alternate existence."

"Wow," said Matt, astonished. "Sorry for all the trouble."

Roarke chuckled. "It's part of my job, Mr. Marelich."

"Believe me," Leslie spoke up from the desk, "Father lives for this sort of thing. Just go on in there and enjoy it…and I hope you do."

Matt smiled at her. "Thanks, Mrs. Enstad. Okay, Mr. Roarke, I'm ready whenever you are."

Roarke nodded and opened the door. "Please step inside…"

Matt preceded Roarke into the room and paused a few steps beyond it; the door on the other side of the room stood slightly ajar, and there was a soft light shining through it, further dimmed by a strange mother-of-pearl-colored mist swirling within and sometimes spilling through the narrow opening. "What's in there?"

"The alternate timeline I spoke of," Roarke told him. "This room is our gateway between that universe and our own. Before we step through that door, I should explain to you that you and I will be as observers in the alternate timeline. You will see all events as they would have occurred had the move to Florida never taken place; and we will not be visible to anyone there. This, of course, means you will also see yourself, in the life you would have lived under that circumstance, but that alternate self will not sense our presence. It won't be possible for you to alter anything you see, Mr. Marelich: these events are as set in history as those in our own world. It is in your power—and mine—to change only the future."

Matt nodded. "I understand, Mr. Roarke."

"Good. The alternate history will be presented to you in a series of five vignettes, each lasting anywhere from fifteen minutes to one hour. One last warning before we begin: you may find that events have taken place that you never expected, events that may in fact be disturbing to you. Do you wish to go on?"

"Yes, I do," Matt said firmly. "I've wanted this for so long, I've already come up with and accepted every caveat you can think of. None of it was enough to change my mind."

"Very well," said Roarke. "Please follow me."

Matt tried to control his excitement as he trailed Roarke through the door and into the drifting mist on its other side. Once Roarke closed the door behind them, the mist cleared and the murky scene before them resolved itself into an elementary-school classroom full of children. Matt blinked. "This is my old school, Mr. Roarke," he said, staring at his host in awe. "This is incredible."

Roarke smiled. "It should be precisely as you remember it," he said, "for the time is early in 1970. Do you recognize the boy three seats back in the row beside the windows?"

Matt gaped. "Yeah, that's me!" He had been looking around, but now had a strange expression on his face, unable to take his eyes off the ten-year-old boy sitting in the indicated desk. "This is weird, Mr. Roarke…like having an out-of-body experience."

"Do you think you can deal with that, Mr. Marelich?" Roarke queried, concerned.

"Oh sure…I kind of figured it'd be like this. It's just that thinking about it is one thing and the actuality is something else again. Naah, Mr. Roarke, I'm not spooked, just surprised. This is really amazing. So what happens here?"

"Look around and see if you recognize anyone else," Roarke suggested.

"Oh yeah…there's Billy Stebbins, and there's Alex Malone…and whoa, that's my best friend Tim Kline right over there! The kid right behind me!" Matt grinned widely and gazed around him, taking in the classroom in which they stood. "I think I remember that teacher. Right before we moved, Tim and I found out we were gonna be in her class, and then we up and left. My dad's job transfer came in just before school started. So…what happened here, then? I mean…what's different, aside from the obvious?"

"Watch and see," Roarke said.

As if on cue, the boy identified as Tim Kline reached out and poked the young Matt in the shoulder. "Hey, Matt," they heard him say, "you hear from Mikey out in Maryland yet?"

The young Matt turned around. "No, I thought he was gonna write to you. I mean, he had your address and all."

Tim shrugged. "He might've forgot about it. I just wanted to know if they get snow in Maryland like they do here…"

Matt blinked. "Sounds like they…we…were talking about Mikey DeRose. I didn't know he moved anywhere. I mean…I don't remember anybody telling me he moved in real life. That's a new one."

"Who cares if they do?" his younger self interrupted him. "This is the best place in the whole world to live. I hope we never, ever move away." Matt winced and glanced away from the scene, and Roarke cast him a sympathetic look.

"Yeah, I'd hate to move someplace where they never get any snow," Tim remarked. "Except maybe Hawaii. Then you could go surfing."

The young Matt laughed, and then they heard the teacher tell them to open their books to a certain page. Matt wandered over to the desk where his ten-year-old alter ego sat and peered over his shoulder, grinning at the textbook. "I remember this," he said. "We were studying this thing when we had to move. Early South Dakota history. I always wondered what happened after the skirmishes with the local tribes finally ended." Roarke chuckled from where he stood at the front of the classroom, and Matt looked up. "Mr. Roarke, is it really true that nobody sees us or knows we're here at all?"

"It is," Roarke said, "but perhaps I should issue a warning…don't try to make physical contact with anyone, especially your younger self. Others may sense a…disturbance."

"Right," Matt said, maintaining a carefully safe few inches between himself and his younger version. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, reading the text along with the rest of the class as various children were chosen to read paragraphs aloud.

They lingered till recess, then followed the two boys into the playground, where the children promptly got involved in a snowball fight. Matt stood laughing, watching the scene, eyeing the young Matt and clearly happy to see him in the midst of a group of friends and having a wonderful time. But he didn't see Roarke gazing on with a slight frown. Roarke, carefully watching the dark-haired ten-year-old, noticed that the boy threw his snowballs with somewhat more force than the others, cheered more loudly when he scored a hit, and seemed to take relish in hitting girls and a couple of boys with whom he and his friends seemed to be on bad terms. Something had gone wrong, Roarke sensed, but it was too soon to know just what it was.

After a few more minutes he said quietly, "Mr. Marelich, it's time to return."

Matt blinked. "It is? Seems like we just got here."

"Thirty-five minutes have passed in our time," Roarke said. "We have seen all we can here. Come with me." He led the way back toward the school building, where there was a door in the wall in a very odd place. Roarke opened it and stepped through; Matt expected to find himself in another classroom, but when he followed Roarke, he ended up in the time-travel room. Behind him the scene dissolved and the mother-of-pearl mist filled the opening in the moment before Roarke pulled the door shut.

"We must allow at least three hours between scenes," he explained to Matt, "so you will have plenty of time to relax and unpack at your bungalow." He opened the door to the study, let Matt precede him inside and came in behind him, closing the door as he removed his gold watch from its vest pocket. "I believe the optimal time to visit the second scene will be at one-fifteen this afternoon; so if you will return here then…"

"I will," Matt said, beaming. "This is fantastic. You really know what you're doing, Mr. Roarke, and thanks tons. Can't wait for the next one!" He vigorously shook Roarke's hand and rushed out the door.

Leslie had been watching from the desk. "Sounds like it was a success…" She caught Roarke's look and added, "…so far."

" 'So far' indeed," Roarke said, approaching her. "Mr. Marelich seems to be quite pleased with the alternate history, but it has barely begun, and that first scene occurred only months after the move would have taken place. However, I have already seen signs that he will find himself beset with at least one rather unpleasant surprise before the day is out."

Leslie sighed and rested her chin on the back of a hand. "Why do happy endings always have to be on the other side of such rocky roads?"

Roarke looked curiously at her and laughed softly, knowing full well she was comparing their guest's current situation to her own experiences—the fire and the loss of her family that had precipitated her move to Fantasy Island, where she had been so happy; her meeting with Christian, their falling in love, and then their long wait through his marriage to Marina before Rogan had finally provided the means for them to be together. "Don't you realize by now, my dear Leslie, that nothing worth having ever comes easily?" he asked, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Not only that, but surely you have found that they were well worth the wait, once they finally came to you."

She smiled. "They were at that," she said. "Well, I hope he's strong enough to take it."

"As do I," Roarke agreed quietly, his gaze drifting. "As do I."

‡ ‡ ‡

At lunch Christian joined them, carrying a small stack of mail from the Enstads' post-office box. He kissed Leslie, handed her most of the envelopes and sat down, retaining a small package for himself. "How has it gone this morning?"

"Quite well," said Roarke. "It's been a quiet morning, and Leslie has had a chance to get ahead with some scheduling for me."

"Anything interesting coming up?" Christian asked her, grinning.

Leslie grinned back at him. "Not that I'll remember most of these fantasies when they actually come around, but I did see that we're going to have a famous guest in a few months or so." She noticed that Roarke looked as curious as Christian did, and said with a chuckle, "You've heard of Jasmine Bellflower, the supermodel?"

Roarke nodded; Christian did a double-take and started to laugh. "Jasmine Bellflower?" he echoed. "That can't be anything but a stage name. Or a catwalk name, as the case may be. I've never heard of her."

"Her work is almost exclusively North American," Roarke explained, "but she is just beginning to make a name for herself in Europe, as I understand it. So we received a fantasy request from her, then?"

Leslie nodded. "I've already managed to forget, actually. Hers was one of the first few I scheduled. Whatever it is she wants, though, I do remember that it struck me as really weird, for a supermodel at least. I filed the letter in the proper folder in the date cabinet, Father, so whenever you get the chance to go through them, you'll see it for yourself." She saw Christian examining his package and, distracted, asked, "What's that?"

"Oh," said Christian, looking up, "it's a few CDs I ordered from a shop I often used to frequent in Lilla Jordsö. I had to make the drive out to Birka, which is where it's located, but it was always worth the trip because I came away with at least one item I could never have found anywhere else." He smiled. "I created their website, as a matter of fact, so that whenever the owner has new arrivals, he sends me a list so that I can make the appropriate changes to the site. And that means I have the first look at the new stock."

"Oh, sneaky," Leslie said with appreciation, and Christian laughed again. "So what'd you get? Let's see it."

"If these are what I think they are," Christian said, starting to pull away the outer wrapping, "I want you to hear one of them as soon as possible. I was about six when I first started taking what are known as Royal Comportment lessons—it's an actual formal class that all of us in the family have had to take, just like another school class. It began with learning the waltz that gave you so much trouble that week I was falling for you—" he grinned at her— "and went on to include assorted other formal dances, a wide range of etiquette lessons, how to dress properly, how to walk and speak as befits a royal, how to kneel and bow gracefully to the reigning monarch…and even how to deal with one's subjects. That, my Rose, is where I learned to refine that 'regal tone' you've referred to. I was born with it, but those classes taught me how to use it. Anyway," he went on, grinning at their laughter, "while I was learning those dances, I discovered a homegrown composer whose music I simply fell in love with. His name is Jan-Martin Asplundh, and he was born two years before my grandfather ascended to the throne. The man is a recluse…lives somewhere in the hills near Dalslund, as I understand it…but he turns out the loveliest music I've ever heard. Recently he released a new album, and I had to have it immediately."

"This sounds really intriguing," said Leslie, as he tore off the last of the wrapping and examined the five compact disks in his hand. "I look forward to it."

Christian brightened. "Yes, here it is. I can't explain it, but ever since I first heard his work, his music has spoken to me somehow. Mind you, I liked the current music as much as anyone else while I was growing up; but this was my secret passion. It gave me the kind of surcease I never found from human beings when tragedies touched my life. After Mother died, for a week I closed myself into my flat and simply played Asplundh's music, day after day, using it to work through my grief. When I felt low or angry, I'd listen to his work. When I needed something to calm me, that's what I'd put on."

"So it means a great deal to you," Roarke said.

Christian nodded. "It does at that. Marina learned to loathe the sounds of his compositions coming from my stereo system, for I played them very frequently in those long dark days. You see, Leslie, my darling, you yourself have never heard these because I didn't need them when I was happy: and I've always been happy with you."

She drew in a soft breath and stared at him, a rush of emotion unexpectedly swamping her. "Oh, Christian," she whispered.

Roarke smiled at their gazes, waited a moment while they linked hands, and then saw Mariki approaching. "Perhaps we will have a chance to hear Mr. Asplundh's music this evening. For the moment, we'll have lunch, and it will give you two something to anticipate throughout the day."

Mariki paused by the table, saw Christian's and Leslie's expressions, and grinned. "Enough sap," she said. "Something healthier and more substantial instead…like my salad, and the swordfish fillets I've prepared, and plenty of good vegetables."

"You got swordfish!" Leslie burst out, catching Christian's wide-eyed attention. "I haven't had that since Jean-Claude retired! Mariki, you're an angel!"

Mariki clapped a hand over her heart and looked at Roarke. "At long last, Mr. Roarke, your daughter's learned to appreciate me!" she declaimed, and they all laughed. "In that case, enjoy, Miss Leslie. You've had swordfish, Prince Christian?"

Christian laughed. "On a rare few occasions. It seems I still have the capacity to learn new things about my wife. I had no idea you liked swordfish, my Rose."

"I love it," she said. "It made me mad when they came out with that edict to limit its role in the diet from possible mercury tainting, and Kazuo took it off the regular menu at the hotel. Now anyone who wants it has to make a special request." She made a face.

"I see," said Christian, "and who is Jean-Claude?"

That made Roarke and Leslie laugh, especially when Mariki made a strangled noise and rolled her eyes. "Jean-Claude was Chef Miyamoto's predecessor," Roarke explained. "He had been here for some twenty-five years when he retired in 1993, and was what Leslie once called 'the original irascible French chef'."

"He was very good," Leslie explained to a fascinated Christian, "very talented, and came up with some wonderful dishes. But he had this thing about exotic fish dishes. And when I say exotic, I mean sometimes just plain gross. It was okay when he started pushing for expensive stuff like crab legs and mahimahi, but then he wanted bluefin shark, then squid…and once he even served octopus." Christian blinked and made a grimace that caused Roarke to burst out laughing. "But his favorite was fugu, and he spent years begging Father to let him serve that stuff."

Christian stared at her. "But fugu's highly poisonous," he protested, aghast. "When I was twenty-six, I was sent to some official function in Japan where the chef served that fish. The only way I could get out of eating it was to claim I was allergic to fish, and then I had to subsist on seaweed and miso soup all evening while the other diners gorged themselves on every fish dish you can imagine. When I returned home, I remember accusing Father of discreetly trying to kill me."

Roarke's laughter renewed itself and Leslie giggled. "We used to wonder if that was Jean-Claude's intention, actually."

"I still recall the first time he requested it," said Roarke, shaking his head. "Leslie was still in school one afternoon, and I had asked Tattoo to accompany her to a dentist appointment later that day. He then mentioned, apparently in passing, that Jean-Claude wanted to serve fugu that weekend, and when I took strong exception to it, he left the house murmuring something about thinking that Jean-Claude seemed to have designs on someone."

"I used to think it was me," said Leslie, and they all laughed again.

"Why?" Christian asked, and that touched off her story of learning to drive and indirectly causing Jean-Claude to crash his little moped, which had made her angry enough to overcome her fear of him and yell at him in her own defense. From there the conversation went easily on from one topic to another, and their lunch lasted somewhat longer than they had meant for it to, making Christian gasp when he casually glanced at his watch. _"Herregud._ I didn't mean to be gone so long. I should have been back ten minutes ago." He tossed Roarke an apologetic look. "Please excuse me, Mr. Roarke. I have a one-thirty appointment at the pineapple plantation…"

"Oh, geez, not them again," groaned Leslie.

"Yes, 'them again', unfortunately. They're far and away my most temperamental customers, and I think the only reason I keep them on is because they always pay their bills promptly. But let me tell you, I really earn that money." He grinned reluctantly at their laughter. "I'll see you both at dinner tonight, and I'll bring the Asplundh disk back with me in case we have a chance to listen to it here. Have a good afternoon, my Rose, and you also, Mr. Roarke." Roarke smiled acknowledgement.

"You as well, Christian," he said. "If the plantation causes any trouble, refer the overseer to me. That will likely be enough to quiet any trouble. I myself have an appointment in another five minutes, so you're not the only one of us who forgot the time."

Christian grinned. "I see…good luck. I love you, my Rose." He leaned down to kiss Leslie, who smiled up at him.

"I love you too, my darling. Don't let those goons at the plantation give you any fugu." Christian walked off the veranda laughing, and Leslie, giggling, waved after him and turned back to Roarke. "Anything I need to do this afternoon?"

"If you'd make the routine check on the other fantasy for me, I would appreciate it," he said, laying his silverware on his plate. "I must meet Mr. Marelich in the time-travel room, but take your time about finishing your lunch. You can check on the Staczek fantasy any time within the next hour or so." He arose as Leslie nodded. "Oh yes, and I believe there is a shipment due in at the harbor, so if you'd go there about three-thirty or so and pick that up, I would very much appreciate it. Take a rover and fold down the middle seats, for it's a large item, and let the ship hands load it for you."

"Got it, Father," said Leslie. "Let me know what happens in the Marelich fantasy. It's really got me going."

"That I will," Roarke promised. "I'll see you later, child."

Within a minute of entering the study, he looked up to see Matt Marelich venture in through the French shutters. Matt grinned a little sheepishly. "Just thought I'd come in the back way," he said and shrugged.

Roarke smiled. "That's quite all right, Mr. Marelich. You are exactly on time; are you ready for your second trip into the alternate timeline?"

"Big-time," Matt said. "Lead on."


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § -- November 9, 2002

"Very well." Roarke came out from behind the desk and crossed the room with Matt on his heels; neither spoke till Roarke opened the door into the alternate dimension. "In this vignette, you are several years older—a high-school student now. You may find things less familiar here." He opened the door fully and preceded Matt in through the mist, which resolved itself into a new scene, this one again in a school but in a crowded hallway rather than a classroom. It was clearly between classes, with kids rummaging around in lockers, standing in knots chattering, eddying in rivers around the groups in attempts to get to their next classes, jostling one another, shouting, and occasionally plastered against the walls in twos, kissing. Before Matt could fully react to the chaotic scene, he spotted a familiar-looking dark-haired boy emerging from the slow-moving stream of students, his arm around a cute little redheaded girl who was watching him in adoration. "There you are," said Roarke.

"I have a girlfriend?" Matt asked, delighted. "That never happened in Tampa!"

Roarke glanced curiously at him but let the exclamation pass. "Her name is Katie Logan, and she is a year younger than you are; here you are fifteen. Why don't we follow and see what happens."

Matt nodded and fell into step behind his teenaged self; as they made their way along, Matt watched himself yell greetings at several other boys, none of whom he recognized. He must have fallen out with his elementary-school friends, he thought in surprise, and hooked up with a whole set of new ones. In front of a classroom door, the teenager stopped, turned to give the redhead in his embrace a rather ostentatious kiss (which amused Matt, who was well aware of the show-offish way teenagers could have of announcing to the world that they were part of a relationship), and then bid her goodbye and entered the classroom. Matt and Roarke followed him in, watched him swing into a desk and slouch in the seat, looking vaguely challenging somehow. Matt looked at Roarke. "I get the feeling something's gonna happen," he said, a little uneasily.

Roarke nodded. "I believe you are correct," he agreed.

The teacher began to hand out papers, which turned out to be quizzes given the day before, and began to enumerate what he had seen most consistently wrong in the various papers when he'd graded them the night before. When he reached the fourth question in his rundown, the teenaged Matt raised his hand. "Yes?" the teacher said expectantly.

"If you look at a map," the boy said, "you can see that one third of Alaska is above the Arctic Circle. One third instead of one fourth."

The teacher stared at him; a few other students, emboldened by the announcement, chimed in with their agreements. "Oh?" the teacher finally said, looking annoyed.

"Why don't you check a map right now?" the teenaged Matt suggested coolly.

Matt stood up straight and stared at himself. "I had an attitude, Mr. Roarke," he said in sheer disbelief. "Did you hear that tone of voice? What the heck brought that on? I never talked like that to my teachers…my parents would've cracked down on me like nobody's business. Even if I was right…which I know I was, because one-third of Alaska _is_ above the Arctic Circle—even if I was, I should've had more respect." He gave Roarke a bewildered look. "Why would I backtalk a teacher like that?"

The teacher was in the process of double-checking Matt's answer, and turned around before Roarke could speak. "You're correct, Mr. Marelich," the teacher said coldly, "but you might consider having a little more respect in the future. We're already aware of various disciplinary problems since your parents died, but let's not compound the situation."

Matt gaped. "My parents…died?"

Roarke nodded; they tuned out the teacher as he spoke. "That is the reason, in this timeline, that you remained in South Dakota. Just before you and your family would have made the move, your mother and father were killed in a car accident. You and your siblings went to live with your grandparents."

Matt stood trying to get his mind around this news, his mouth working a little, his eyes darting all over the place. He finally focused on Roarke, a dazed expression on his face, and said woodenly, "I think I've seen all I want to see here, Mr. Roarke…"

Roarke nodded. "Very well," he acquiesced quietly. "Please follow me." They slipped out through the classroom door, which instead of discharging them into the school corridor put them back in the time-travel room. There, Roarke turned to Matt. "You may let me know at any time when you are ready for the third trip back."

Matt hesitated, jammed his hands into his pockets and shifted his weight back and forth from one foot to the other, hunched his shoulders and stared at some unknown spot on the floor somewhere. Finally he mumbled, "Maybe it could wait, Mr. Roarke…I really…I mean, I gotta think about this…"

Roarke nodded understanding. "Take all the time you need, Mr. Marelich. The next optimal moment will not occur until this evening in any case."

Matt glanced up. "Okay…thanks, Mr. Roarke." He turned slowly and drifted toward the door; Roarke let him out, then watched him leave the house in silence. He shook his head to himself, wondering whether their guest was going to make it through this fantasy after all. They could only wait and see.

‡ ‡ ‡

Dusk had settled over the island when Matt returned, still looking somewhat disturbed but with that same determined glint back in his eye. In the study he found Roarke waiting with Christian and Leslie, who were both at the computer looking at a website. "I was wondering, Mr. Roarke…" he began.

Roarke arose, and Christian and Leslie looked around. "Good evening, Mr. Marelich, what may I help you with?"

"I'm ready to go back again," Matt said simply. "I spent all afternoon trying to decide what I wanted to do. It was a shock and a half to find out how the alternate history came about, but I can't stop in the middle like this. I think I just want to know how I would've turned out in the end, that's all."

"I understand," Roarke said. "Very well, then, if you will come with me…and Leslie, if you and Christian don't mind remaining here for about an hour, I would appreciate it."

"Sure, Father, that's fine," Leslie said easily. "Good luck, Mr. Marelich."

"Thanks, Mrs. Enstad," he said with a faint smile, then paused a moment. They could all see the look of recognition in his eyes. "Holy cow. You must be Mr. Enstad."

"I am," Christian said and smiled. "Nice to meet you."

"Same here…I don't have to bow, do I?" Matt asked uncertainly.

Christian grinned. "No, I'm not a prince anymore," he said humorously, "although if you ask any islander you're likely to hear a dissenting opinion. I've given up trying to get it across, but the unfortunate side effect of that is to make me forget all the time myself."

Matt laughed and seemed to relax. "Must be a pain in the neck."

Leslie grinned, shooting her husband a sly sidelong look. "Don't let him fool you, Mr. Marelich. When Christian feels like being royal, he doesn't let his lack of official status get in the way. As several people have remarked, once a prince, always a prince."

"Oh, now, come on," Christian protested good-naturedly.

"She has a point," Roarke observed. "There are times when I strongly suspect that, deep inside, you still think of yourself as a prince, Christian. I can't recall how many times I've heard the regal undertone in your voice when you are dealing with difficult or recalcitrant people, or when you feel you've been crossed…or particularly when you're coming to Leslie's defense. Little wonder Mariki and most of the other islanders still refer to you as Prince Christian, for you truly are and always will be, title or none."

"Then it's a vicious circle, for it simply contributes to my forgetting that I really don't have any further right to the appellation," Christian said, sighed, then added impishly, "On the other hand, occasionally it does come in handy." They all laughed and he nodded at Matt. "I wish you the best in your fantasy."

"Thanks," Matt said a little self-consciously and turned to Roarke. "Guess I'm ready."

Roarke nodded and crossed the room with Matt a few steps behind. Leslie watched till they'd disappeared into the time-travel room, then shook her head. "Sometimes I wonder about some of the fantasies we get. Father hasn't filled me in, but something tells me Mr. Marelich learned something he didn't expect, and it's not sitting well with him."

Christian took her hands and pulled her out of the chair and onto her feet. "Well, if I've managed to learn anything from being married to you, my Rose, it's that there will be painful lessons learned from this fantasy, as from so many others, but there's likely to be some sort of happy ending. If I were you I wouldn't worry about it. Now let's see. Since it seems we're going to be here for some time, why don't you put Asplundh's latest disk on the CD player and we'll listen to it together."

She smiled at that and did as he suggested, then wandered in his direction as the first strains of a plaintive melody drifted through the air. Christian drew her into his embrace and rested his head atop hers; both he and Leslie remained still and spellbound by the odd, searching quality of the first track. When it ended, they looked at each other, and Leslie shook her head sharply to dispel a shudder. "I see what you mean about that music speaking to you," she remarked. "It really hits the tender spots in your soul."

"That's a very good way to put it," Christian said. "You can see now why I always found it such an appropriate soundtrack to so much of my life before I met you."

Leslie sighed softly and loosely wrapped her arms around his neck, then smiled wryly at him. "One thing this isn't is music to make love by, that much I know."

Christian tipped back and exploded with laughter. "Believe me, my Leslie Rose, I have plenty of other music for that! For the moment it will have to wait, I'm afraid. Ah, this one actually sounds sprightly…for an Asplundh composition, that is." It was in fact a slow waltz. "Dance with me?"

"Always, my love," Leslie said softly, and he smiled at her, languidly three-stepping around the study with her to the soft music.

This time, Matt preceded Roarke through the door into this latest scene, wondering uneasily what he was going to find here. When the swirling mist cleared, he squinted around what appeared to be a large tree-dotted green, with a raised dais and podium at the far end and many folding chairs set up in rows before it, most of them occupied. Robed young men and women were filing up one by one as their names were called, accepting diplomas. "High-school graduation?" Matt guessed.

"College, actually," Roarke explained, "namely yours. There you are just now." He made a gesture, and Matt turned to look in time to see a handsome, confident-looking young man step onto the platform and accept his diploma.

"I'd have gone to college!" Matt said, astounded. "That's something else that didn't happen in real life. I just went right into the work force—got in at a locally popular restaurant on the ground floor and worked my way up over the years. So…what did I major in? What's my degree in?"

Roarke looked at him and grinned. "Restaurant management," he said, and Matt found himself laughing: it was the job he currently held. "Not to be facetious," Roarke went on, "but as a matter of fact you were a business major, with a focus on the hospitality industry. This would have allowed you to accept a managerial job from the very beginning, rather than spending years moving up through the ranks as you did." He glanced around the scene, an odd expression on his handsome features that Matt couldn't decipher. "I believe those are your grandparents, Mr. Marelich."

Some ten feet away from them, Matt saw his alter ego approach two beaming elderly people, a jovial-looking man with a headful of pure white hair and a petite lady with soft gray waves and a pair of reading glasses on a chain around her neck. "Yup, that's Gran and Granddad," he said, gazing wistfully at them. "I must've been twenty-one or so in this, huh, Mr. Roarke? In real life they'd both died by then."

Roarke frowned, looking openly puzzled. "Indeed!" he murmured, as if to himself.

Matt glanced at him, then looked again, surprised by his host's reaction. "Is something wrong? I mean…you look…I don't know, odd."

Roarke focused on him and shook his head slightly once or twice. "It's nothing, Mr. Marelich, don't trouble yourself over it. It's only that…it appears that your assertions that you might have been better off remaining in your home state seem largely to have been correct. Of course, you would have endured the loss of your parents; but you appear in this timeline to have made life choices that are drastically different from those you made in your own time—choices that were beneficial to you."

Matt folded his arms over his chest and grinned. "Seems so," he remarked. "It looks like this fantasy's been more than worth it so far."

A voice nearby spoke, and they turned their attention to the younger Matt and his grandparents, just now strolling by them. "You really have something to be proud of there, Matthew," the older man observed cheerfully. "Your mother and father would be thrilled beyond words if they could see this—especially with that job waiting for you right out of college. You've become a real go-getter—good for you."

"So what about Katie?" the elderly woman inquired. Matt and Roarke fell into step behind the threesome, following at a distance of a couple of arms'-lengths or so to listen. "She graduates this week too, doesn't she?"

"Yeah, day after tomorrow actually," Matt said. "I told her I'd pick her up at the airport come Monday, if you don't mind my borrowing the car."

"Of course, Matthew," his grandfather agreed. "So then, what's the plan?"

Matt watched his younger self shrug in a self-deprecating manner. "Aw, well, I was thinking about asking her to marry me," he said diffidently.

"Matthew!" his grandmother gasped, lighting up. "How soon?"

Her grandson grinned broadly at her. "Don't worry, Gran, you've got plenty of time to make plans and figure out who to invite. I'm thinking a couple years down the line so Katie and I can get established and have a little bit of money saved up. That's if she says yes." He looked a little nervous. "We haven't been in touch too much lately, so I don't really know if her feelings are still the same. Let's see what happens after I pick her up and we have a chance to sit down and talk." He grinned again and knocked his rolled-up diploma into the palm of one hand. "Hard to believe I'm finally done with school. Y'know, Gran and Granddad, you two are the best. You've always been there through everything ever since Mom and Dad died, and I gotta tell you, I'm really glad. I know you've been under a lot of stress raising us, and I'm gonna see if I can help you out."

His grandfather clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry about that, Matthew, we're not hurting that badly. You've got your whole life ahead of you and you should start building it. We'll get Megan and Shawn through school just as we did you. Well, let's get you home…there's a graduation party tonight, and it'd sure look good if we were the only ones who weren't there." The threesome laughed and ambled off toward a parking lot not far away. Roarke and Matt stopped and watched them go.

"This is amazing," Matt said, a wistful note in his voice. "I mean, I always told myself it would've been better if we'd never moved, but I never thought I'd actually turn out to be right. What a great fantasy, Mr. Roarke."

Roarke regarded him with the slightest of smiles. "You still have two vignettes to witness, Mr. Marelich," he pointed out, "and you will see those tomorrow. Keep in mind that it's still entirely possible that things can change drastically."

"That may be," Matt agreed jauntily, "but so far I'm finding out I was right, by and large. I gotta tell you, that's quite a revelation. I'm getting a case of the _I told you so's_ here, after all." Roarke did not return his grin, and he frowned a bit. "You really think I'm in for a fall, don't you, Mr. Roarke?"

"We shall see, Mr. Marelich," Roarke said quietly. "We shall see. Please, follow me." § § § -- November 9, 2002

"Very well." Roarke came out from behind the desk and crossed the room with Matt on his heels; neither spoke till Roarke opened the door into the alternate dimension. "In this vignette, you are several years older—a high-school student now. You may find things less familiar here." He opened the door fully and preceded Matt in through the mist, which resolved itself into a new scene, this one again in a school but in a crowded hallway rather than a classroom. It was clearly between classes, with kids rummaging around in lockers, standing in knots chattering, eddying in rivers around the groups in attempts to get to their next classes, jostling one another, shouting, and occasionally plastered against the walls in twos, kissing. Before Matt could fully react to the chaotic scene, he spotted a familiar-looking dark-haired boy emerging from the slow-moving stream of students, his arm around a cute little redheaded girl who was watching him in adoration. "There you are," said Roarke.

"I have a girlfriend?" Matt asked, delighted. "That never happened in Tampa!"

Roarke glanced curiously at him but let the exclamation pass. "Her name is Katie Logan, and she is a year younger than you are; here you are fifteen. Why don't we follow and see what happens."

Matt nodded and fell into step behind his teenaged self; as they made their way along, Matt watched himself yell greetings at several other boys, none of whom he recognized. He must have fallen out with his elementary-school friends, he thought in surprise, and hooked up with a whole set of new ones. In front of a classroom door, the teenager stopped, turned to give the redhead in his embrace a rather ostentatious kiss (which amused Matt, who was well aware of the show-offish way teenagers could have of announcing to the world that they were part of a relationship), and then bid her goodbye and entered the classroom. Matt and Roarke followed him in, watched him swing into a desk and slouch in the seat, looking vaguely challenging somehow. Matt looked at Roarke. "I get the feeling something's gonna happen," he said, a little uneasily.

Roarke nodded. "I believe you are correct," he agreed.

The teacher began to hand out papers, which turned out to be quizzes given the day before, and began to enumerate what he had seen most consistently wrong in the various papers when he'd graded them the night before. When he reached the fourth question in his rundown, the teenaged Matt raised his hand. "Yes?" the teacher said expectantly.

"If you look at a map," the boy said, "you can see that one third of Alaska is above the Arctic Circle. One third instead of one fourth."

The teacher stared at him; a few other students, emboldened by the announcement, chimed in with their agreements. "Oh?" the teacher finally said, looking annoyed.

"Why don't you check a map right now?" the teenaged Matt suggested coolly.

Matt stood up straight and stared at himself. "I had an attitude, Mr. Roarke," he said in sheer disbelief. "Did you hear that tone of voice? What the heck brought that on? I never talked like that to my teachers…my parents would've cracked down on me like nobody's business. Even if I was right…which I know I was, because one-third of Alaska _is_ above the Arctic Circle—even if I was, I should've had more respect." He gave Roarke a bewildered look. "Why would I backtalk a teacher like that?"

The teacher was in the process of double-checking Matt's answer, and turned around before Roarke could speak. "You're correct, Mr. Marelich," the teacher said coldly, "but you might consider having a little more respect in the future. We're already aware of various disciplinary problems since your parents died, but let's not compound the situation."

Matt gaped. "My parents…died?"

Roarke nodded; they tuned out the teacher as he spoke. "That is the reason, in this timeline, that you remained in South Dakota. Just before you and your family would have made the move, your mother and father were killed in a car accident. You and your siblings went to live with your grandparents."

Matt stood trying to get his mind around this news, his mouth working a little, his eyes darting all over the place. He finally focused on Roarke, a dazed expression on his face, and said woodenly, "I think I've seen all I want to see here, Mr. Roarke…"

Roarke nodded. "Very well," he acquiesced quietly. "Please follow me." They slipped out through the classroom door, which instead of discharging them into the school corridor put them back in the time-travel room. There, Roarke turned to Matt. "You may let me know at any time when you are ready for the third trip back."

Matt hesitated, jammed his hands into his pockets and shifted his weight back and forth from one foot to the other, hunched his shoulders and stared at some unknown spot on the floor somewhere. Finally he mumbled, "Maybe it could wait, Mr. Roarke…I really…I mean, I gotta think about this…"

Roarke nodded understanding. "Take all the time you need, Mr. Marelich. The next optimal moment will not occur until this evening in any case."

Matt glanced up. "Okay…thanks, Mr. Roarke." He turned slowly and drifted toward the door; Roarke let him out, then watched him leave the house in silence. He shook his head to himself, wondering whether their guest was going to make it through this fantasy after all. They could only wait and see.

‡ ‡ ‡

Dusk had settled over the island when Matt returned, still looking somewhat disturbed but with that same determined glint back in his eye. In the study he found Roarke waiting with Christian and Leslie, who were both at the computer looking at a website. "I was wondering, Mr. Roarke…" he began.

Roarke arose, and Christian and Leslie looked around. "Good evening, Mr. Marelich, what may I help you with?"

"I'm ready to go back again," Matt said simply. "I spent all afternoon trying to decide what I wanted to do. It was a shock and a half to find out how the alternate history came about, but I can't stop in the middle like this. I think I just want to know how I would've turned out in the end, that's all."

"I understand," Roarke said. "Very well, then, if you will come with me…and Leslie, if you and Christian don't mind remaining here for about an hour, I would appreciate it."

"Sure, Father, that's fine," Leslie said easily. "Good luck, Mr. Marelich."

"Thanks, Mrs. Enstad," he said with a faint smile, then paused a moment. They could all see the look of recognition in his eyes. "Holy cow. You must be Mr. Enstad."

"I am," Christian said and smiled. "Nice to meet you."

"Same here…I don't have to bow, do I?" Matt asked uncertainly.

Christian grinned. "No, I'm not a prince anymore," he said humorously, "although if you ask any islander you're likely to hear a dissenting opinion. I've given up trying to get it across, but the unfortunate side effect of that is to make me forget all the time myself."

Matt laughed and seemed to relax. "Must be a pain in the neck."

Leslie grinned, shooting her husband a sly sidelong look. "Don't let him fool you, Mr. Marelich. When Christian feels like being royal, he doesn't let his lack of official status get in the way. As several people have remarked, once a prince, always a prince."

"Oh, now, come on," Christian protested good-naturedly.

"She has a point," Roarke observed. "There are times when I strongly suspect that, deep inside, you still think of yourself as a prince, Christian. I can't recall how many times I've heard the regal undertone in your voice when you are dealing with difficult or recalcitrant people, or when you feel you've been crossed…or particularly when you're coming to Leslie's defense. Little wonder Mariki and most of the other islanders still refer to you as Prince Christian, for you truly are and always will be, title or none."

"Then it's a vicious circle, for it simply contributes to my forgetting that I really don't have any further right to the appellation," Christian said, sighed, then added impishly, "On the other hand, occasionally it does come in handy." They all laughed and he nodded at Matt. "I wish you the best in your fantasy."

"Thanks," Matt said a little self-consciously and turned to Roarke. "Guess I'm ready."

Roarke nodded and crossed the room with Matt a few steps behind. Leslie watched till they'd disappeared into the time-travel room, then shook her head. "Sometimes I wonder about some of the fantasies we get. Father hasn't filled me in, but something tells me Mr. Marelich learned something he didn't expect, and it's not sitting well with him."

Christian took her hands and pulled her out of the chair and onto her feet. "Well, if I've managed to learn anything from being married to you, my Rose, it's that there will be painful lessons learned from this fantasy, as from so many others, but there's likely to be some sort of happy ending. If I were you I wouldn't worry about it. Now let's see. Since it seems we're going to be here for some time, why don't you put Asplundh's latest disk on the CD player and we'll listen to it together."

She smiled at that and did as he suggested, then wandered in his direction as the first strains of a plaintive melody drifted through the air. Christian drew her into his embrace and rested his head atop hers; both he and Leslie remained still and spellbound by the odd, searching quality of the first track. When it ended, they looked at each other, and Leslie shook her head sharply to dispel a shudder. "I see what you mean about that music speaking to you," she remarked. "It really hits the tender spots in your soul."

"That's a very good way to put it," Christian said. "You can see now why I always found it such an appropriate soundtrack to so much of my life before I met you."

Leslie sighed softly and loosely wrapped her arms around his neck, then smiled wryly at him. "One thing this isn't is music to make love by, that much I know."

Christian tipped back and exploded with laughter. "Believe me, my Leslie Rose, I have plenty of other music for that! For the moment it will have to wait, I'm afraid. Ah, this one actually sounds sprightly…for an Asplundh composition, that is." It was in fact a slow waltz. "Dance with me?"

"Always, my love," Leslie said softly, and he smiled at her, languidly three-stepping around the study with her to the soft music.

This time, Matt preceded Roarke through the door into this latest scene, wondering uneasily what he was going to find here. When the swirling mist cleared, he squinted around what appeared to be a large tree-dotted green, with a raised dais and podium at the far end and many folding chairs set up in rows before it, most of them occupied. Robed young men and women were filing up one by one as their names were called, accepting diplomas. "High-school graduation?" Matt guessed.

"College, actually," Roarke explained, "namely yours. There you are just now." He made a gesture, and Matt turned to look in time to see a handsome, confident-looking young man step onto the platform and accept his diploma.

"I'd have gone to college!" Matt said, astounded. "That's something else that didn't happen in real life. I just went right into the work force—got in at a locally popular restaurant on the ground floor and worked my way up over the years. So…what did I major in? What's my degree in?"

Roarke looked at him and grinned. "Restaurant management," he said, and Matt found himself laughing: it was the job he currently held. "Not to be facetious," Roarke went on, "but as a matter of fact you were a business major, with a focus on the hospitality industry. This would have allowed you to accept a managerial job from the very beginning, rather than spending years moving up through the ranks as you did." He glanced around the scene, an odd expression on his handsome features that Matt couldn't decipher. "I believe those are your grandparents, Mr. Marelich."

Some ten feet away from them, Matt saw his alter ego approach two beaming elderly people, a jovial-looking man with a headful of pure white hair and a petite lady with soft gray waves and a pair of reading glasses on a chain around her neck. "Yup, that's Gran and Granddad," he said, gazing wistfully at them. "I must've been twenty-one or so in this, huh, Mr. Roarke? In real life they'd both died by then."

Roarke frowned, looking openly puzzled. "Indeed!" he murmured, as if to himself.

Matt glanced at him, then looked again, surprised by his host's reaction. "Is something wrong? I mean…you look…I don't know, odd."

Roarke focused on him and shook his head slightly once or twice. "It's nothing, Mr. Marelich, don't trouble yourself over it. It's only that…it appears that your assertions that you might have been better off remaining in your home state seem largely to have been correct. Of course, you would have endured the loss of your parents; but you appear in this timeline to have made life choices that are drastically different from those you made in your own time—choices that were beneficial to you."

Matt folded his arms over his chest and grinned. "Seems so," he remarked. "It looks like this fantasy's been more than worth it so far."

A voice nearby spoke, and they turned their attention to the younger Matt and his grandparents, just now strolling by them. "You really have something to be proud of there, Matthew," the older man observed cheerfully. "Your mother and father would be thrilled beyond words if they could see this—especially with that job waiting for you right out of college. You've become a real go-getter—good for you."

"So what about Katie?" the elderly woman inquired. Matt and Roarke fell into step behind the threesome, following at a distance of a couple of arms'-lengths or so to listen. "She graduates this week too, doesn't she?"

"Yeah, day after tomorrow actually," Matt said. "I told her I'd pick her up at the airport come Monday, if you don't mind my borrowing the car."

"Of course, Matthew," his grandfather agreed. "So then, what's the plan?"

Matt watched his younger self shrug in a self-deprecating manner. "Aw, well, I was thinking about asking her to marry me," he said diffidently.

"Matthew!" his grandmother gasped, lighting up. "How soon?"

Her grandson grinned broadly at her. "Don't worry, Gran, you've got plenty of time to make plans and figure out who to invite. I'm thinking a couple years down the line so Katie and I can get established and have a little bit of money saved up. That's if she says yes." He looked a little nervous. "We haven't been in touch too much lately, so I don't really know if her feelings are still the same. Let's see what happens after I pick her up and we have a chance to sit down and talk." He grinned again and knocked his rolled-up diploma into the palm of one hand. "Hard to believe I'm finally done with school. Y'know, Gran and Granddad, you two are the best. You've always been there through everything ever since Mom and Dad died, and I gotta tell you, I'm really glad. I know you've been under a lot of stress raising us, and I'm gonna see if I can help you out."

His grandfather clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry about that, Matthew, we're not hurting that badly. You've got your whole life ahead of you and you should start building it. We'll get Megan and Shawn through school just as we did you. Well, let's get you home…there's a graduation party tonight, and it'd sure look good if we were the only ones who weren't there." The threesome laughed and ambled off toward a parking lot not far away. Roarke and Matt stopped and watched them go.

"This is amazing," Matt said, a wistful note in his voice. "I mean, I always told myself it would've been better if we'd never moved, but I never thought I'd actually turn out to be right. What a great fantasy, Mr. Roarke."

Roarke regarded him with the slightest of smiles. "You still have two vignettes to witness, Mr. Marelich," he pointed out, "and you will see those tomorrow. Keep in mind that it's still entirely possible that things can change drastically."

"That may be," Matt agreed jauntily, "but so far I'm finding out I was right, by and large. I gotta tell you, that's quite a revelation. I'm getting a case of the _I told you so's_ here, after all." Roarke did not return his grin, and he frowned a bit. "You really think I'm in for a fall, don't you, Mr. Roarke?"

"We shall see, Mr. Marelich," Roarke said quietly. "We shall see. Please, follow me."


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § -- November 10, 2002

At breakfast, Roarke and Leslie were both very surprised indeed when Christian appeared, with several CDs in his hand. "Good morning!" Roarke said. "It's quite unusual to see you here on a Sunday, Christian, though of course you are most welcome to join us."

Christian grinned. "I had breakfast at home, actually," he said, "but I thought Leslie might be interested in having these as background music through the day. She mentioned that she would be in the office for the most part, and it surprises me how quiet your study can be in slow moments. So…" He turned to Leslie and kissed her at some length. "Happy Sunday, my darling. When you have a chance, you might listen to one of these. You could begin with this." He indicated the CD on top of the stack of about half a dozen that he gave her. "These are all of Asplundh's albums across nearly forty years. There aren't many, but he puts much time and labor into his work, so that it's worth the long wait for each new release. This one on the top is his very first album, the one that hooked me on his music when I was only six years old. Do you see the track listing?"

Leslie turned the disk over and scanned the song titles. "They're all in _jordiska_. Is there a special one you have in mind?"

"Yes, the fifth one," Christian said, _"Melodin till violsdansen_. That's the first Asplundh composition I ever heard. You see, _violsdansen_ is Lilla Jordsö's national folk dance, and for many years there had apparently never been a proper song by which to dance to it. Then Jan-Martin Asplundh gained fame with this recording, and I distinctly remember the impossibly ancient instructor of my Royal Comportment class calling the music perfect for _violsdansen_. Like my sister before me, I had some trouble remembering the steps of the dance as the years passed, but I never forgot the music. I think it's the only cheerful piece that Asplundh has ever written, but it's every bit as evocative as his other work."

Roarke looked impish. "Do you remember the dance today, Christian?"

Christian and Leslie both laughed. "I'm not altogether certain, Mr. Roarke," Christian said in the same spirit, "but I suppose once Leslie hears that tune she will insist that I show her how it's done. Which means I'd better make my escape while I still have the chance." He grinned at their laughter. "I wish you both a good day, and I'll try to be here for lunch." They returned the sentiments and watched him cross the veranda, then returned to their breakfast, with Leslie poring curiously over the CDs as she ate.

"I keep meaning to remind Christian to teach me some _jordiska_," she mused to Roarke eventually, "but we have such busy lives I'm always forgetting. My high-school Spanish seems to have deserted me, and there are times when I feel like Christian's speaking in code whenever he's on the phone with somebody in Lilla Jordsö. And I'm sure he gets fed up with having to translate everything for my benefit."

"You never really kept up your Spanish," Roarke observed a little pointedly, but his dark eyes held a twinkle.

Leslie shrugged. "I don't hear you speaking it all that often either," she returned good-naturedly, and they chuckled. "When's Mr. Marelich supposed to get over here?"

Roarke consulted his gold watch. "In approximately two hours," he said. "That will leave me enough time to check on our other fantasy." He arose. "Perhaps when I return, you'll have one of those recordings playing, and I too will have the chance to hear what so captivates your husband. Please excuse me." With a smile at her, he departed.

Roarke and Matt arrived at the same moment; Leslie was at the desk by that time, on the phone with the hotel, while Asplundh's music played unobtrusively in the background. The sound caught Matt's attention and he stopped in the middle of the room to listen. "I've never heard this before," he remarked. "Who is it?"

"A composer from Lilla Jordsö by the name of Jan-Martin Asplundh," Roarke said. "My son-in-law is a great admirer of his. Are you ready for your next trip?"

Matt grinned. "Very much so. You might tell Mr. Enstad that I'd like to know where I can get my hands on some of that music. I like it."

Roarke smiled and said, "I'll give him the message. Shall we?"

Matt nodded and trailed Roarke back into the portal, this time with a sense of great anticipation. The music hit them both before the mists cleared, and Matt stopped short, his eyes popping wider and wider as the scene resolved itself before them.

"Yes, this is your wedding, Mr. Marelich," said Roarke with a small smile.

"Unbelievable," Matt breathed. _"Everything_ was different. I had a high-school girlfriend, I went to college, I got married. My whole life would have been more full if we'd stayed in South Dakota. It's flat-out amazing."

Roarke noted that he seemed to have forgotten that for this timeline to be reality, he would have had to lose his parents. But he refrained from pointing this out; he himself was more than a little surprised at the turns this fantasy had taken. _Perhaps I've become predictable,_ he thought humorously to himself. _I expect things to follow a certain path, and on the rare occasions when they do not, I find myself caught off guard._ Undoubtedly his own father would be laughing merrily if he knew. Roarke smiled to himself, turned his attention to his guest and gestured him forward, following a few steps behind while they watched the younger Matt Marelich marry Katie Logan, the same girl he'd known in the high-school and college scenarios. Matt recognized his grandparents, his younger brother and sister, even his long-ago school buddy Tim Kline.

Following the wedding, the scene shifted unexpectedly to reveal Matt playing in the yard with two young children. "I had kids too," Matt said, laughing. "With everything else turning out the way it did, this shouldn't have surprised me. A college grad, a husband, a father…and a successful businessman too, from the look of it." The yard fronted a large, very attractive brick-and-wood colonial-style house, on a tree-lined street in a well-kept upper-middle-class neighborhood. "What more could I have asked for, except for it all to have actually happened? This has been the greatest fantasy you ever granted, Mr. Roarke, and it was worth every penny…I can't tell you how grateful I am."

Roarke regarded him with reservation. "Your fantasy has not yet ended, Mr. Marelich. Remember, there is yet one vignette for you to witness."

"I don't need it," Matt said cheerfully, shrugging it off. "I'm all set to call it a day and head on home—"

"I can't do that," Roarke told him, his voice gaining a subtly steely tone. "The fantasy has not reached its natural conclusion, and it is not possible to stop it."

Matt looked curiously at him, some of his cheer fading at Roarke's quiet solemnity. "Okay," he finally said with a shrug, "then I'll stick around for the last one, but I really don't need to see it." He let his attention wander back to the happy family.

"I think you do," Roarke said very quietly, and settled his stance, gazing at the blissful tableau before them. He was aware of Matt's eyes on him, but gave no sign of it.

Eventually Roarke informed Matt that it was time for them to go back, and Matt agreed with great reluctance, following Roarke back into the study with a joyful look on his face. Leslie looked up as they came in and grinned at sight of their guest, then noticed Roarke's carefully blank expression and tilted her head questioningly.

"Everything okay?" she asked.

"More than okay, Mrs. Enstad, it was fantastic," Matt said, beaming. "Mr. Roarke says I still have one more scene to see, but if this had been the end of it all I'd have been thrilled. I'd have had everything in life that I don't have now if we'd never moved."

Leslie regarded him with astonishment. "And that makes you happy?" she asked.

"It just confirms everything I always thought," Matt explained.

"But I'd have thought that would've made you bitter," Leslie said in bewilderment, "for all the things you missed out on that you don't actually have."

Matt only shrugged amiably. "Thanks again, Mr. Roarke, see you later."

" 'Later'," Roarke warned him without looking at him, "will be four o'clock."

"Terrific, I'll be back then," Matt said and left, whistling.

Leslie stared at Roarke, who finally met her gaze. "I don't get it."

"For once, my child, neither do I," Roarke admitted, visibly shocking her. He saw it and smiled wryly. "I too believed Mr. Marelich would only be embittered by what he could have had and didn't, and all because of moving to a new locale. Yet for some reason, he seems to be nothing short of delirious."

"Frankly," Leslie remarked, shaking her head with reluctant amusement, "I think he lied when he said he wasn't looking for an _I told you so."_

Roarke laughed aloud and came behind the desk, patting her shoulder as she arose from his chair so that he could take her place there. "So it would appear! Incidentally, I have a small errand for you. Mr. Marelich took note of the recording you were playing when he arrived here, and wanted it to be made known that he was very taken with the music. I thought you might pass the word on to Christian, so that he can provide a means by which Mr. Marelich might obtain his own copies of the recordings."

"He's got good taste," Leslie said with a grin. "I have to admit, Christian's got me hooked on Asplundh's work too. There's something about it that kind of brands itself onto your soul and never fades away. I might not have your powers, Father, but even I can tell that there's a lot of strong emotion behind this music. Something tells me Jan-Martin Asplundh isn't a very happy man."

"I agree," said Roarke, "but as Christian said, he is a recluse, and perhaps this is the outlet he needs. In any case, he has a rare and very unusual gift. Why don't you go now."

Leslie glanced around Christian's office when she arrived and was quite surprised to see he was gone. Julianne and Mateo were there, and both smiled greetings. "Boss Prince had to go on a call," Julianne explained. "Was it urgent?"

"Not really," Leslie said, "but I'll wait for him anyway. I've got time." She grinned at Camille's sister. "What's new with you, and what's happening with Jeremy and Jennette?" The other half of the Ichino quads had both gone off-island after college, with Jennette living on Kauai, working as a kindergarten teacher and recently married, and Jeremy on tour with a currently popular rock band as a roadie—something Jonathan had openly envied.

"Well, that band Jeremy's breaking his back for is still on the road, but the tour ends next month, so he has to come back to the island after that," Julianne said. "My parents think he's turning into a slacker and want him to get a real job." Leslie laughed, and Julianne smirked. "He always did want to do unrealistic stuff. The difference between him and most dreamers is that he actually managed to find a way to do it. I mean, I have dreams too, but I guess my feet are too stuck to the ground for me to take a chance and chase them."

"You don't have to take _that_ much of a chance," Leslie teased her. "You native islanders really seem to take it for granted that you live in an enchanted little world here. Any time you want, you could come to Father and me and chase one or two of those dreams."

"Yeah, maybe I could," Julianne reflected. "I haven't taken any time off since May when I visited Jennette and Pat in Lihu'e. But I don't really know what dream I want to chase. I guess I can think about it."

"Sure you can," Leslie agreed. "You have all the time on earth. How're Jennette and Pat doing, anyway?"

"Jennette's pregnant," Julianne reported gleefully. "It's really exciting…the first of us quads to become a parent. Which makes sense since she's also the only one of us who's married. It kind of makes me envious, Miss Leslie. Pat's nutty about her, and she thinks he's the greatest thing in the world. Sort of like you and Boss Prince."

Leslie chuckled. "You could say that, I guess. When's she due?"

"Around when Camille is," Julianne said mischievously.

Leslie shot out of Christian's chair. "She and Jimmy finally got pregnant! When's she due, for crying out loud? You brat, you had to go and spring it on me like that! Camille's going to kill you for not letting her tell me herself, you know!"

Julianne chortled in delight. "No she won't. She's having vicious morning sickness, like she never had with David or Craig. She said this baby better be a girl so it would be worth all the agony. She's due around May, maybe a little after your birthday." She paused and regarded Leslie a little soberly. "Actually, she asked me if I'd kind of let you know and have you tell your other friends. She was afraid of upsetting Mrs. Miyamoto after what happened last year and…well…"

Leslie nodded understanding. Katsumi had suffered a miscarriage shortly after Leslie's birthday the previous year, and she had been so ill that she'd been forced to undergo a hysterectomy. Though Katsumi, true to her Japanese soul, had never mentioned it and kept up a stoic façade, Leslie and their other friends knew it had hurt her deeply, and they had all been glad that Kazuo and their two daughters had been there for her. In the past eighteen months Katsumi seemed to have recovered from the trauma; but she had once confided in Leslie, who Katsumi knew was sometimes troubled by her own apparent inability to get pregnant, and Leslie knew Katsumi would carry the painful memory with her for the rest of her life. "I'll handle it. But I think Katsumi would be glad for her."

"Camille wasn't too sure of it, I don't think," Julianne said, shrugging. "Anyway, that's the story. Hey, why don't you surf on Boss Prince's computer till he gets back? I've done enough yakking and I really should get going on this program I'm writing."

"No problem," said Leslie and settled back behind her husband's desk, going online and idly checking some of the sites Christian had lately viewed on his browser. One was the royal family's official website, which Christian had created and continued to maintain. His family was more than content to let him have full charge of it; he always made certain it was up-to-date and accurate. They had insisted that Christian and Leslie have a page on the site as well; as Carl Johan had said, "Even if you aren't a prince any longer, you're still one of the royal family, and so is Leslie by having married you. If you don't have a page like all the rest of us do, we'll find a different site designer." The threat had made Christian scoff laughingly at him; but he'd given in, and maintained a page for himself and Leslie as well as the rest of the Enstad family. The site could be viewed in either English or _jordiska_, and Leslie went through it at leisure, smiling at the news of Cecilia's pregnancy, warmed by the formal portrait of Carl Johan, Amalia, Rudolf, Gerhard, Liselotta and baby Matteus, and wishing she and Christian had some noteworthy news for their own page.

She was going through the island website for anything that might need updating when Christian returned; he stopped short when he saw her there and peered at her with a twinkle in his eye. "Well, well, look who's taken over my office."

Leslie laughed and stood up as he came back, and they hugged each other. "Julianne said you were on a call. Anything serious?"

"Just routine computer maintenance. What brings you here, my Rose?" Christian queried comfortably, releasing her and settling into his chair.

She leaned against the desk. "Our one guest, the one who wanted to see what his life would've been like if he hadn't moved. I had one of your CDs on this morning when he came in, and Father told me later that he noticed it and wanted to know where he could get his own copies, since he liked it."

Christian grinned. "Ah, a convert! And you need me exactly why?"

"Because you're the only one who knows where he can buy it," Leslie said, grinning back at him. "You sort of implied that it's available only in Lilla Jordsö."

"Not quite," Christian said, "but as far as I know it's not carried in any shop outside Scandinavia. I think your guest's best bet would be to go through the same shop where I buy Asplundh's CDs." He rotated his chair a bit, plucked a pencil out of the chipped old mug beside the monitor, and printed out a website address on the scratch pad near the mug, ripping off the top page and handing it to Leslie. "The site is in English as well as _jordiska_; I always make certain any site I design can be read in English, for maximum accessibility. You never know when it will pay off, and here it has."

"Very true," Leslie agreed. "Thank you, my love. Are you planning to have lunch with us today, or do you have too much to do?"

"No, I'm only working on website maintenance. I'm surprised you aren't frenetically busy at the main house. What about your guests, particularly the one with the excellent taste in music?" Christian asked, a playful note in his voice.

Leslie giggled. "He's deliriously happy, actually. Father said he has one more trip to the alternate timeline before his fantasy ends, but he hardly seemed to notice. He was talking about all this great stuff that happened to him there: he had a girlfriend in high school, he got a college degree, he got married and had children. It's like he wants to go back home and shout 'I told you, I told you!' from every rooftop in Tampa. I thought it'd make him bitter that he would've had what he never got in real life, but he was over the moon. I can't understand why."

"Because he was right," Christian said simply, regarding her with a slight smile. "It may be of the _I told you so_ variety, as you say, but he must have convinced himself over the years that everything good that never happened to him in real life would happen if he had never moved. And now his fantasy has borne out that conviction, so that he's smug in the knowledge that he was right all the way along. I have a feeling that later on, when it sinks in that this is just a fantasy, that bitterness you were expecting will take root."

"How do you know?" Leslie asked, amazed.

Christian reached out and caught her hand in his, rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand, still gazing up at her with that faint smile. "A little bit of personal experience," he said. "I knew if my father hadn't been resentful of my existence, I would have grown up secure in my parents' love. It didn't happen that way, and my only solace was in knowing I was right. As a child I sometimes pretended I wasn't the son of King Arnulf and Queen Susanna, that I was just an ordinary boy with parents who doted on me. At times I wondered if I would ever have the unconditional love of anyone. I mean…even Mother once had to convince me that she truly did love me. The only person whose love I've never had any reason to question is you, my darling. And that has eased so much of my bitterness about my parents, it sometimes stuns me to realize it."

She knelt in front of him without letting go of his hand, gazing up at him. "If you ever question my love for you," she said warmly, "I'll question your sanity." Christian let out a loud laugh, and Leslie grinned broadly back, then sighed gently. "I just have this feeling the poor guy's in for a big letdown, and I think Father does too. Even he's baffled by the way this fantasy's been going. When it happens, I think it's going to be one spectacular crash-and-burn, and who knows what kind of reaction he'll have."

"It seemed, from your description, that he was setting himself up for that spectacular fall," Christian said gently, leaning forward and slowly stroking her hair. "You and Mr. Roarke are only the messengers, showing him what he wanted to see anyway. Feel sorry for him if you will, my Leslie Rose, but don't blame yourself." He kissed her softly. "Now before I get a phone call from your father asking what I've done with you, perhaps you'd better go on back, and I'll see you at lunch."

She twisted her mouth, a teasing gleam in her eye. "Throwing me out, are you? I knew it, you don't want me around at all."

Christian smirked at her. "Quite to the contrary, my darling—but you would distract me beyond belief, and I'd undoubtedly lose what little respect my employees have for me." They both laughed. "I love you very much, my Rose, just remember that. Till lunch."

"I love you too, my darling," she replied and arose, tipping down long enough to plant a last kiss on his lips. "See you at lunch." She departed, and he settled back to his computer to go on double-checking his clients' websites, only to see Julianne peering at him. "And just what are you looking at?"

His grin brought a matching one from her. "Something I hope I get to have one day, that's all," she said wickedly. "Miss Leslie told me once you've got nephews."

Christian stared at her and started to laugh. "Were you always the bold one in your family, Julianne Ichino? Yes, she told you correctly; I have three nephews, but one is already married, as I suspect you know. His brother has a steady girlfriend, and their cousin has become what I believe your generation refers to as a party animal. My sister's begun to lose hope that he'll settle down."

"Oh yeah? How old is he?" Julianne asked cheekily.

"Twenty-two," Christian said and shook his head suddenly with a reluctant grin. "If he's anything like I was, my sister's going to have rather a long wait. I hear he's already made a number of rather lurid headlines in the _jordiska_ press. But that's not for you to worry about. I truly don't think either of you would appeal to the other, so you might prefer to aim your sights a little closer to home. Now, what's the status on that program you've been working on all morning?"


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § -- November 10, 2002

Roarke had been gone all afternoon, worrying Leslie when he returned and she saw his foreboding expression. He wouldn't explain anything, but only took his usual chair and asked her for a report on the afternoon's events. Just before four o'clock, Matt arrived to see Roarke waiting behind the desk and Leslie examining the jewel case for the last of Christian's CDs, currently in play. Roarke gave Matt a solemn nod of greeting; Leslie stood up and pulled the slip of paper Christian had given her out of her pocket. "Hi, Mr. Marelich," she said. "Father told me you were interested in this music we've been listening to."

"Yeah," Matt said, "who is it again?"

"His name's Jan-Martin Asplundh," Leslie told him. "Christian wrote down the website of the shop where he buys the CDs, so you can get your own copies through them."

"That's great, Mrs. Enstad, thanks…and thank Mr. Enstad for me too," Matt said appreciatively, looking at the web address Christian had written on the sheet. "What's his name again? I ought to write it down so I know whose music to ask for."

Leslie told him, handing him a pen, and he carefully printed it on the sheet below Christian's precise printing. "He's unknown outside Scandinavia, so you might be one of the very first beyond Nordic borders to become a fan."

Matt chuckled. "Could be. Well, okay, thanks again…and Mr. Roarke, I'm ready for the last trip." He tucked the note into his shirt pocket while Roarke arose with another wordless nod and came around the desk.

"Good luck," said Leslie sympathetically, and Matt gave her a last glance, tinged with some surprise at her tone of voice, before following Roarke into the time-travel room. She shook her head to herself, dreading what she'd see when he and Roarke emerged and trying to keep in mind Christian's advice from that morning.

Matt was still trying to figure out Leslie's odd remark, and was even more disquieted by Roarke's peculiar reticence. "Is there something wrong?" he asked.

"I don't know," Roarke said without elaborating. "Please come with me." So saying, he led Matt through the second door and into the last scenario.

The mist cleared and they found themselves standing beside a hearse, which made Matt hop back several steps and stare at it. "Holy…I mean…what's going on here? This must be for one of my grandparents, I guess." His gaze drifted off across what proved to be a cemetery, to a burial in progress nearby. There was a fair-sized crowd standing around the new gravesite, watching a coffin being lowered into the ground. In prominent position Matt recognized his brother and sister, standing beside the red-haired woman who had become Matt's wife in the last scenario, and three teenagers. All were crying. "Where am I?"

"In that coffin, Mr. Marelich," Roarke said very softly, his tone one of sorrow.

This time the whispered curse did escape Matt, and he felt his face drain of all color. "You can't be serious, Mr. Roarke—this is _my_ funeral?" he spouted in horror. Roarke's gaze strayed to the group at the gravesite and he nodded. "I couldn't have been that old…I mean, the kids are teenagers, and Shawn and Megan look pretty young yet. Mr. Roarke, for crying out loud, what's this all about? Are you telling me that I would have died earlier if we'd never moved away? Is that what this is saying?"

"That I cannot answer," Roarke said, focusing on Matt with compassion. "I can only tell you that, in this alternate reality, you were aged fifty-three at the time of your death, and that several causes are responsible: primarily heart disease, but also cirrhosis of the liver and a perforated ulcer."

Matt winced and shook his head sharply, as though this would change the scene in front of them. "How did I get all that?"

"Quite simply, you worked too hard," Roarke told him. "You eventually became the manager of several restaurants, spreading yourself somewhat thin for your job, and tried to take on extra working hours in order to meet the various expenses involved in raising teenagers and supporting their extracurricular activities and hobbies. The stress of your work and the pressure you felt to keep your family in a comfortable lifestyle helped to bring about the ulcer; the heart disease developed over many years of not eating a proper diet, as well as too little exercise and too much stress; and you also were involved in many examples of what I believe is called a 'liquid lunch'…too many drinks at business meals." He shook his head. "I am sorry, Mr. Marelich."

Matt, still blindsided, wanted to lash out at him, at someone, for showing him this. "I didn't need to see this," he protested. "I told you that before."

"You were so very certain that your life would have been perfect had you never made the move to Florida," Roarke said. "You've been convinced all through these years that you would have had everything you currently do not, had you remained in South Dakota. I will readily admit that even I was quite surprised to see that things went so well in this alternate history—but the more happiness we saw, the more I feared that an outcome of this type was in the offing.

"But you must understand that those things that seem desirable are not completely good, and those apparently undesirable are not completely bad. In large part, the choices you made following the move were responsible for the situation you now find yourself in, and it was all too easy for you to blame the move. You idealized your early childhood in South Dakota, resisted the move and your new circumstances, and deliberately isolated yourself—perhaps subconsciously, but you did make the choice all the same."

"So it's my own fault that I've got a crummy life in a place I hate," Matt said with a glare. "Is that what you're telling me?"

"You may dislike the place, Mr. Marelich, but is your life really so bad? If you're truly dissatisfied with your life as it stands now, why not change it?"

Matt scowled. "I have a decent job," he said. "I'm only a high-school grad and I was lucky to be able to make it this far in the working world. As it is, I worry a lot about expenses, and it took me almost ten years to save up enough money to make this trip and confirm what I'd always suspected about that move. And here you tell me it's my own fault things worked out as they did. What exactly should I change?"

Roarke's expression frosted over slightly. "For one thing, if you are so unhappy with your place of residence, you might consider changing it—perhaps even returning to South Dakota, since you consider that to be your true home. With your experience in your current position, it should be less trouble than you anticipate to find a similar job once you have returned. If it truly takes a physical change of location to improve your outlook, then by all means make the change, and perhaps you will find yourself motivated to pursue other improvements in your life, such as those we have witnessed here this weekend."

Matt stood there and stared at him, letting his words sink in, turning the concept over in his mind, then finding his gaze going back to the scene of the funeral that was still playing out some distance away. Then something Roarke had said the previous day came back to him, and he regarded his host once more. "In other words…I can't change my past, no matter how right I think I was about it, but I can change my future."

"Precisely," said Roarke, his dark eyes warming.

Matt nodded very slowly, just once, and then smiled faintly. "Thanks, Mr. Roarke," he said simply, and Roarke nodded back, returning the smile.

§ § § -- November 11, 2002

Matt Marelich stepped out of the rover and approached Roarke and Leslie with an outstretched hand. "I've said this a dozen times already, but thanks again to both of you," he said, shaking each of their hands in turn. "Just deciding to move back to South Dakota has made me feel more hopeful about my future. I mean…I might finally find that special woman and have that wedding, and those kids, and that house…and that contentment."

"It sounds to me like you were just stuck in a rut," Leslie commented, "feeling sorry for yourself and wanting things to be different, but being afraid to change because you didn't want to rock the boat. I'm glad you decided to go for it."

"I think you're right, Mrs. Enstad," Matt agreed. "Y'know, I was over at the public library in town last evening, checking out a website for that composer…and from what little it said and from the music I heard at the main house, he seems like a man with issues. I think that kind of helped me cement my decision to start changing things. I don't want to turn into some bitter old goat with nothing but regrets and questions as to why I didn't do something about it when I could. Soon as I get home I'm ordering all those CDs, as a kind of inspiration to me to take charge of my own life."

"I wish you all the best of luck," Roarke said warmly. Matt grinned, shook hands with him once more and started for the plane dock.

Leslie watched him, returning Matt's final wave in tandem with her father. "Sometimes I think nobody knows the real meaning of 'going home again'," she mused. "After all, home means something different to each individual. I mean, for some folks it's a place, like for Mr. Marelich…and for some folks it's a time. And I think for some people it's a matter of surrounding themselves with loved ones."

"Very wise, Leslie," Roarke said, impressed, regarding her with interest. "And what, then, does home mean to you?"

She smiled. "It means all of the above. This place, this time, and you and Christian: all that makes up home for me." Roarke smiled back and gave her a paternal squeeze.  
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**A/N:** _Thanks to PDXWiz for the alternate-universe theory! The next story is finally going to resolve Anna-Kristina's romantic woes. (Bet you thought I'd forgotten!) Just when she thinks she's ready to settle down…well, stay tuned!_


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